Drown My Sorrows
by NerdAngel
Summary: A 3 part piece that goes through 3 different Birthdays for Sam.
1. Regret

**A/n: This was suppose to be a one shot that got too long, so now its a three parter. The first part takes place while Sam's in college.**

 **Thank you LilyBolt for your amazing recent reviews and all the not so recent ones as well as for all your support and friendship. Thank you miXiZ for all of your support, reviews and friendship as well. Thank you jojospn for your reviews and support. Thank you to everyone else who reads, reviews, follows, or favorites this story.**

 **It's rated T for language as well as some of the drink names, which I did not make up.**

 **I don't ownSPN or any of its characrers.**

Part one

It's the birthday he will always regret.

Sam doesn't even know why he lets Brady talk him into it.

"It'll be fun! Besides, it's the big two one and you only turn legal once."

Sam shakes his head and tries to explain how that's not how that works, but Brady waves him off. "Come on don't be such a stick in the mud Sammy," he teases.

"It's Sam," Sam corrects his friend. "And I know how twenty first birthdays go, especially in a bar with friends," the college student says tilting his head in acknowledgement. Brady simply rolls his eyes.

"Aw come on, lighten up a bit. Take a night to be a normal twenty one year old and not the eighty year old you are. Tonight's your night to thrive man. May it be full of booze and a promise of getting laid. God knows you need it."

"Hey!" Sam shouts punching Brady on the arm.

"What? You do." It was no mystery as to why he had been friends with Brady, he had in a way reminded him of his older brother. Getting Sam to a bar for his big birthday, had been something they both had aimed for.

Dean had been anxious for the day that he could finally sit and have a beer with his brother legally in public. He had only mentioned it to him every birthday and every time they went to a restaurant.

"I'm going to make sure you have a twenty first birthday that you will never forget!" He would say. "It's going to be one of the best nights of our lives Sammy." Dean's face would light up and a playful smile would grow at the thought.

He had been looking forward to this night more than Sam himself, and he wasn't even there to witness his brother's first legal alcoholic beverage. Sam had expected to not hear from his father. More than likely, he had forgotten about what day it was and the importance of it altogether. Sam who? He was prepared for that sting, but he had thought surely Dean would call and wish him a happy birthday. All day since the moment he opened his eyes that morning, he had been sneaking glances at his phone in hopes that he would see 1 missed call or 1 message from his big brother. He had longed to hear his energetic proud voice singing "Happy Birthday" off key to him.

Sam checks again, still nothing. He sighs and agrees to go out, what the hell? It's not like he has anything better to do, and it's obvious that neither his father nor his brother are going to make a guest appearance or bother wasting their breath on a phone call.

The bar is fairly empty, the advantage of having his birthday fall on a Monday. It's a rather small place with one long counter and a dozen backless leather barstools, three pool tables, and a jute box. To the far left their is one restroom for women and one for men and then a back door that leads to a balcony where a few women are smoking and talking with one another. A group of guys between his brother's age and his own are occupying one of the pool tables, and five of the twelve bar stools are taken. Sam and Brady slide onto two of the open seats just as a tall skinny man with a long red beard and bald head come around the counter.

"What can I get you guys?" He asks in a rather gruff voice.

"We'll both have a Jager Bomb and a shot of Whiskey to start," Brady orders with a smile.

"And a water each too please," Sam adds hastily.

"You got it." The man turns from the young men and goes to work. Sam looks over at Brady who gives him a look equivalent to that of Sam's own popular bitchface.

"What?" Sam asks innocently as he shrugs.

"Water? Really?"

"Yes really. I already told you, I'm not getting shitfaced. I want to remember my birthday."

Sam's friend puts his hands up in surrender as the four shots and two waters are placed in front of them.

"Ok ok. Am I right to assume you also like to go to parties and take a shit right in the middle of it?"

"Real classy Brady. I'm not a party pooper, I just want to be able to remember my birthday."

"Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that. Alright, to Sam Winchester!" He shouts holding his first glass of whiskey up towards the taller young man. Sam gives a shy smile, they clink glasses, and throw back the first shot. Sam places his empty glass on the table and licks his lips. He has had whiskey before, courtesy of his big brother, but it had been the cheap stuff. This has a different taste, it's a bit stronger. Brady picks up his Jager and holds it out for another cheers to his friend. Sam retrieves his glass and they repeat the process. The next round of drinks includes another shot of Whiskey, a Fireball, and a shot of Three Wise Men. By the time they have finished the second round, more of their friends from Stanford join them. They pat the birthday boy on the back and congratulate him on finally being able to drink at a bar. He smiles and thanks them, warmth from the alcohol already starting to work it's way through his system.

"What're we drinking?" A young man with short black hair asks Sam as he clasps him on the back and looks at the various bottles behind the counter.

"You can have whatever, I think I'm good," Sam replies.

"Nah come on! Getting shitfaced is like a right of passage, you still got some left before you reach that point. Excuse me!" He calls out to the bartender and waves a hand to get his attention. "Can I get a Lemon Drop for me and Flaming Shot for my friend here?" The man nods and sets to work fixing the drinks.

"I don't know that I'm ready for a Flaming Shot," Sam says uncomfortably shifting in his seat. The bartender returns with their drinks, lighting Sam's on fire.

"Wait about ten seconds after you blow it out to drink it." With that he walks on to help the next customer.

Everyone crowds around Sam belting out at the top of their lungs "Happy Birthday," drowning out the AC/DC song that's playing on the jute box. When they're done, Sam blows out the fire, waits like he was told, and after much coaxing and chanting from his buddies, he throws it back. Everyone goes wild with hooting and hollering.

Some of the college students start a pool game, which Sam quickly joins. He doesn't want to drink anymore unless it's water. He wants to remember this night. While he waits for his turn at the table, he makes his way to the jute box, finds the song he wants, and selects it to play whenever his turn comes.

"Old Time Rock and Roll," fills the small bar and Sam is quietly singing along and humming the versus he doesn't know.

"What the fuck Sam? Bob Seger? Really? What are you, an old man?" One of them teases.

"It's what I grew up listening to," Sam responds defensively. Normally he would give anything to not have to listen to classic rock since it had been the only music his brother and father had deemed good or worth listening to, and once he had gone out on his own, he had tried to avoid having to hear any more of it. But for some reason, Sam feels the need to hear something familiar to him.

He and Brady win the game of pool, with Sam making the last shot and thoroughly impressing the other men.

"How the hell are you so good?" One of them asks.

"Where did you learn to be so badass?"

"I uh, I have a lot of practice," Sam blushes. "My brother taught me."

"You're brother must be one cool dude," another admires.

"Yeah, he is," Sam says unable to hide the pride in his tone.

"Your brother's a dick." Sam turns to face Brady.

"What?"

"You heard me, your brother is a dick. If he was such a great guy, why isn't he here celebrating with you? Has he even called?" Sam had checked his phone will standing at the jute box earlier, still no sign of Dean.

"You don't even know my brother, so shut the hell up," Sam snaps.

"Just saying, if you were my brother, I would want to be there for your big milestone. Hell, I am here for it." He laughs and a few of the guys laugh too.

"He's-he's just-"

"What? Huh? He's just busy? Too busy to even wish his little bro a happy birthday? Please. It obviously doesn't matter to him. But you have us Sam, you have me." Sam fights back tears that he can feel are trying to worm their way from his eyes. Although Brady had definitely been harsh and blunt about it, and honestly his friend had seemed different lately, he hadn't been wrong. Dean really couldn't be bothered to pick up his phone and call or even text happy birthday?

"Here Sam, this'll help," one of his friends hands him a shot. He doesn't ask what it is, he doesn't care. He tosses it back and slams the glass down as the bar explodes with his friends cheering and clapping.

"How about a Buttery Nipple?" The black haired friend asks. Sam sways a bit where he stands, but recovers smoothly.

"Alright, bring it on!" He shouts with a smile. His friend retrieves his drink and before he can clink glasses with him, Sam pounds it. The group of guys go wild again. It takes a few seconds, but it hits. The room starts to spin slightly.

"Has he had anything with Irish Cream yet?"

"I don't think so. Oh, how about a Blow Job Sam?"

"Youmn alcl, right?" He slurs. Caution in his voice.

"Someone get this guy a Blow Job!" Brady shouts. One of the men disappear back to the counter and reappear shortly after with the Irish cream and Kahlua shot topped with whip cream. Sam throws that one back too, despite him feeling slightly uncomfortable with the name of it, and this time it isn't just the room that erupts in victorious shouts, but Sam's head. He began to sway slightly as he tries to hold himself up on his pole stick. The spinning intensifies until Sam isn't sure what's ceiling, what's wall, and what's floor. He slowly staggers over to the men's restroom, which is thankfully unoccupied, and locks himself in. Sam tries to lean against the wall hoping it will keep him steady, but to no avail. He drops to his knees and crawls over to the toilet, reaching it just in time before he begins to vomit violently. The acid of all the alcohol burns his throat as he heaves and a nasty mix of sweet and bitter after taste lingers. His body begins to shake and his grip on the bar toilet starts to falter. With one last horrific purge, he manages to flush and then sinks down to the floor. He lays there watching the bathroom swirl around until everything goes black and all noise falls silent.

He has no idea how long he lays there, out cold. When he wakes up again, it's the bald red bearded bartender who comes into view.

"Brdy?" Sam mumbles.

"Your pals are at the counter," he explains. "Normally I would call the cops, but it's your twenty first birthday and we've all been there. I called you a cab, they should be here soon. What's your address?" Sam's eyes begin to close as he stutters and mumbles his address before he passes out again.

The next time he wakes up, he's strapped in the back of a strange car. Brady's light sing-songy careless tone saying goodbye. He laughs and it's the last of anything familiar to Sam. He's slumped over so that he's laying on his side, taking up the entire back seat. The world spinning around him. He shuts his eyes and groans as his stomach lurches. The harsh tone of the driver, loud grumbling of the speeding car, and the sickness in his belly makes it harder for him fall into an easy sleep.


	2. Forget

**A/n: Part two takes place during season one after Sam is back with Dean after Jess' death. It's his 23rd birthday.**

 **Language warning**

 **Thank you for reading, reviewing, following, and/or favoriting. LilyBolt and miXiZ, thank you both so much for everything.**

Part 2

It's the birthday he will never forget.

Sam doesn't even know why he lets Dean talk him into it.

"Come on Sammy, it'll be fun," Dean promises. "God knows you could use a little fun." He says this in a genuine tone. The older brother knows what the younger one has been through in the last couple of months. Sam looks at him, a sad gleam in his eye. He knows what his brother is hinting at. He knows he just wants to help, but he can't. Not only six months after his world came crashing down on him. Not after he had almost lost him too, and recently at that.

"It's Sam," Sam corrects his brother. "And I don't feel like celebrating."

"I'm not saying get shitfaced, I'm just saying have a little drink in honor of this glorious day," Dean reassures him.

"Glorious?" Sam scoffs.

"Stop being a prude and have a shot with me. You're turning twenty three, not ninety three," the older man teases.

What the hell? It's not like he has anything better to do.

The bar isn't all that crowded, makes sense to Sam being that it's a Wednesday. It's tiny, intimate, with one small counter with six barstools and two tables not far from the counter. There is one pool table that's occupied by two men a little older than his brother. One restroom is located for men on the right and one for women on the left. In the corner closest to the door, there is an ATM and a jute box. Sam and Dean slide onto an empty bar stool as a woman in her late thirties with dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail comes around the corner to greet them.

"What can I get you fellas?" She asks.

"Pick your poison birthday boy," Dean gently nudges Sam. Sam's not really in the mood to drink. He shrugs.

"A water please," Sam orders.

"Two shots of whiskey sweetheart," Dean adds.

"You got it." She turns from the brothers and fixes their drinks. Sam shakes his head. Of course his brother would order him a drink despite him wanting to stick to water.

"What?" Dean asks noticing his gesture.

"I told you, I don't want to drink tonight," Sam responds. Before Dean can say anything, the bartender returns with their drinks.

Dean raises his shot glass up and out towards Sam. He begins to rattle off "happy Birthday" to the now twenty three year old like a tone deaf hound. Sam tries to hide his reddening face as eyes fall on him and chuckles sound off. "To the biggest pain in the ass little brother!" Sam scoffs, reluctantly collects his own glass in his hand, and clinks it with his brother's before they both toss them back.

"Another?" Dean asks. Sam hesitates but agrees. The brothers share a few more, then Dean takes up a glass of whiskey, Sam follows suite. "Finally!" Dean shouts out with a laugh catching Sam off guard and causing him to throw his brother a raised eyebrow.

"Finally what?"

"I finally get to celebrate a birthday with my little brother in a bar. I've been waiting for this day since...ha, forever." Sam finds a spot on the counter to stare at. Dean looks over at him and notices his hazel eyes are unwilling to meet his green. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, me too." The younger man clears his throat and looks everywhere but at his company. He downs the rest of his whiskey and asks for another. Now Dean's attention is really piqued.

"What's eating you Gilbert Grape?" He asks trying to lighten up the awkward mood Sam has set. "And don't say nothing," he adds pointing his finger at him. Sam sits fidgeting with his now empty glass. His eyes still not meeting his brother's, and his lips pressed together.

"Hey, you wanna play a round?" Sam asks directing a thumb towards the pool table. Dean recognizes his little brother's tactic to get out of the conversation as one he general uses himself. Normally Sam has no problem opening up about his feelings, but something was clearly upsetting him, and his lack of sharing was upsetting Dean.

"Yeah sure. You go rack and crack, be there in a minute." While his brother slips away to ready the game, the older man makes his own to the jute box. By the time Dean joins Sam, "Rock n' Roll Never Forgets," is blaring through the speakers. Dean is singing along with the song as he takes his shot. A smile creeps across Sam's face.

"You and your old man music," he jests.

"You leave Seger alone you new age hippy heathen," Dean responds. Sam smirks as he watches him smack yet another solid into a pocket.

"I guess it's kinda nice to see somethings never change. Like your love for whiskey, crappy taste in music, and your attempt to hit on anyone with a nice rack" he jokes.

"Ok first of all you drink whiskey too. Secondly, who are you to say my music is crappy Mr. Alternative Indie Bullshit? Lastly, I don't just hit on women with nice racks...sometimes they have more to offer in the back then the front." Sam rolls his eyes as he lines up to smack a striped ball into the pocket across from him.

"You're a dog," the younger man retorts playfully.

"I'm very respectful," Dean counters. "I am who I am and that ain't never going to change."

Sam's face deadpans as he glances over at his big brother. "Why didn't you call?" Now it was Dean's turn to be caught of guard.

"What?"

"On my twenty first birthday, why didn't you call? You never shut up about how you couldn't wait until I turned twenty one." It falls silent between the brothers. Dean throws back the rest of his whiskey and then sets down the empty glass on a nearby table. "Didn't you care? Did you even remember?" Sam's throat starts to tighten as he presses on.

"Of course I cared," Dean shoots back immediately, disbelief and pain in his eyes as well as etched on his face as he looks at him. "Of course I remembered. How could you even think that? What do you take me for Sam?" His voice has grown louder, the hurt ringing stronger then the disbelief. "I wanted to call you. I stared at my phone at least a hundred times that day, contemplating calling you." Dean falls silent but the look in his eyes are screaming with emotion that he is trying to avoid.

"You did?" Sam's voice is nothing more than a choked whisper as he tries to keep it steady. "Why didn't you?" Dean's eyes shoot over to look at the plethora of bottles behind the counter.

"I didn't think you would want me to," he admits unable to look his brother in the eyes.

"What?"

"You didn't answer any of my calls prior, why would you all of the sudden start then?" His voice turns from pain to slight anger. Sam feels as though he has just been slapped in the face.

"Dean, I-"

"And for the record, so did Dad." Sam straightens up as Dean jabs his pool stick at the solid yellow ball. It makes contact and shoots off into the pocket, taking a solid blue with it.

"Dad remembered?" Sam asks. The older brother shakes his head in astonishment.

"It was you who walked out on us Sam, not the other way around. You may have been able to skip out and form a new life and discard your old one and your family like we were yesterdays trash, but we weren't given that same luxury. You honestly thought we could just erase you? Pretend like you never existed? Do you have any idea how hard, how miserable it was for me knowing that it was the milestone that I had been looking forward to sharing with my little brother and I wasn't even able to be there for it? Do you have any idea what it felt like to send you a text or try to call you, just to have it go to voicemail or the text to never be replied to? Or to have a stone weighing in your gut that kept you from sleeping or wanting to eat because you were too sick from worrying about whether or not your little brother was alive and ok? Not to mention the guilt of having been the one responsible. " Dean stops and bows his head. Sam's eyes are glistening as the words his brother says hits him like a fist to the gut. All this time he had thought his family stopped caring, when in fact it had been he who had pushed them away, not them.

"Dean, I never meant-"

"You know what, it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done." Dean rests his stick against the wall and slips out of sight. Sam wants to go after him, but he knows that will only make things worse. His brother was hurt, and it had been because of him. Sam makes his way back to the bar and orders a shot of Whiskey, which he downs and then asks for another. A few minutes pass by and Dean still hasn't returned. Sam orders another shot. He throws it back and this time, he feels it. His head begins to swim and grow light as the room begins to twirl around him. He makes his way to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Sam drops to his knees, clings to the toilet, and empties his stomach. Just as he thinks it's over, he hurls again. Sam slides from the toilet to the cold floor his eyes close and everything around him slowly starts to dim and fade.

He's not sure how long he lays on the ground or how long he's out. When he wakes up again, it's his brother's concerned freckled face that come into his vision.

"D'n?"

"I gotcha Sammy, I gotcha." Dean lifts him to his feet with some difficulty. His little brother wasn't so little anymore. In fact he was a good few inches taller and a couple pounds heavier thanks to muscle then the last time Dean had lifted him up. Sam passes out.

The next time he wakes up, he's buckled and laying on his side in the back seat of a familiar car. The world's spinning around him. He shuts his eyes and groans as his stomach lurches. The soothing voice of his brother, purring of the Impala, and feeling of a comforting hand rubbing his back makes it easy for him to fall into an easy sleep.

 **LilyBolt, thank you for your kind words and for attending that Con with me last weekend. What a day, I'm so glad I could share that with you and I hope to be able to do it again in the future. You're the phenomenal one, not me lol**


	3. Reset

**A/n:WARNING SPOILER ALERT for season 2 and 3**

 **Sorry it took me so long to finish. I don't know if it's just a fan thing or if it's actually part of the show, but I've read and heard that the day Sam dies back in season 2 is supposedly his birthday,which would mean Dean then went to Hell on Sam's birthday the following year. Again, I don't know if that's true, but I've decided to go with it.**

 **Thank you to anyone who reads, reviews, and/or favorites this. A special Thank you to LilyBolt, miXiZ, jojospn, and guest.**

It's the birthday he wishes he could reset.

He knows exactly why he's talked himself into it.

"It'll numb the pain," he tells himself.

At the stroke of midnight, his world had once again come crashing down on him. There was no bouncing back this time. He had had something sturdy to lean on, rather, someone sturdy, when he lost Jess. Dean had been there to catch him when he fell. To cheer him up when he needed it, to keep his mind busy and his heart light. Then their father passed away. Sam's sturdy brother had fallen slightly from under him and it had been Sam's turn to be the support beam.

Last year his birthday had ironically also been the day of his death. Dean had given him the best gift he could possibly ever give his baby brother, his life back. But in doing so, Sam had learned that Dean's was on the line. His soul for Sam's life. He had spent the remainder of that year desperately looking for a way to save him, despite his brother's constant demands to leave it alone. Even after all the effort, all the hours spent, all the blood, sweat, and tears Sam put into it, he couldn't save him.

Sam doesn't even bother with going to a bar. He just wonders into a 24/7 convenient store, and drags himself to stand in front of the alcohol, and stares at it. When he moves again, he opens the door and snatches up two of the biggest bottles of whiskey he can find, and places them on the counter. The man standing behind the counter, who doesn't look much older than Sam himself, gives him a look that suggests that he's not sure what to make of the scene before him. He works the graveyard shift in an area where he wouldn't normally be out walking around if he had the option, so he had seen quite a few things that were disturbing in his time and a giant man with puffy glossy red eyes that seemed blank who was covered in what was unmistakably blood and dirt purchasing alcohol at 3:57 in the morning, couldn't be good news.

"This all for you?" The clerk asks Sam.

"For now," the young man says in a low monotone voice.

"You got it," the clerk rings him up and tells him the total. Sam pulls out a wade of cash and tosses it on the counter before taking up his bottles, not even bothering to stay around to collect the $34 dollars in change.

That money was money he had earned not too long ago when he hussled pool at a local dive with his brother. He had claimed it would be their victory money when Dean wasn't dragged off to Hell, which Sam had been so sure would be the outcome.

With there being no victory, it went to numbing.

Barely out of the liquor store, Sam has one of the bottles open and to his lips with his head back as he chugs the whiskey. When he's done, he tosses the un-opened one in the back and climbs into the car. Sam takes another long drink and then pulls away again as the morning comes back to him.

OOO

 _All that blood. Everywhere. His brother laying motionless on the floor of a stranger's home, his chest ripped to ribbons. Dean's eyes which had always been so full of life, were lifeless and cold, like the rest of him as they stared pass his brother. Sam couldn't speak save for the words "no" and "Dean." He picked him up so that he cradled him from head to torso, tears falling uncontrollably as he sobbed. Bobby allowed Sam to sit like that for awhile, giving the boy time to grieve over the loss of his older brother. In the meantime, he too allowed tears to trickle from his eyes and roll down his cheeks._

 _Finally, the old hunter approached the young man, the sole Winchester, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder and calling out to him._

 _"Sam, I'm sorry son, but we gotta go." He said in a gentle manner. Sam continued to hold onto his brother tight, as though he were a security blanket that a parent was trying to pull away from a child. He didn't say anything, just continued to hold his sibling and sob. Bobby tried again."Sam, come on."_

 _"No!" The young man shouted, pulling his arm free of his friend. The older man flinched but stayed firm when he spoke again._

 _"Sam we have to get out'a here. Now, let me help you carry Dean."_

 _"No," he said again but this time it was quieter. His puffy red swollen eyes stayed on Dean. "No, I'll carry him myself." With that Sam gently lifted his brother up so he could get his legs out to stand up. The first time he did so, they wobbled causing him to almost fall to the floor. Bobby caught his arm and helped to steady him._

 _"Maybe I should-"_

 _"No, I've got him," Sam insisted. Bobby released his hand and Sam stooped down to pull his brother into a fireman' s carry. They made their way down the stairs and out the door, where Sam stopped short. Bobby having noticed stopped too and looked over at the young man._

 _"What?"_

 _Sam looked from the Impala to his old friend._

 _"He would kill me if I got blood all over her," he said simply. It seemed so stupid to say. How many times had they both crawled into the Impala bloody? But even then, Sam knew Dean didn't like it. He sometimes caught his big brother cussing under his breath while he scrubbed at the seats with a wet washcloth later once they were both patched up._

 _"It's alright son. Put him in my car and you can follow." Sam shook his head._

 _"Do you have a blanket by any chance?" Bobby froze and sighed but nodded. Of course he did, he knew what they had gotten themselves into, and he knew enough about Hellhounds and demon deals to have prepared for such an outcome. He pulled out an old multicolored quilt for Sam to see. The young man nodded as he sniffed back his still running nose._

 _"Good, lay it out on the back seat in the Impala for me." Bobby didn't move from his spot. "Bobby."_

 _"Sam, I think it's best if you let me drive Dean," he said calmly._

 _"What? No. He'd want to be in the Impala. He loves-loved, this car," Sam argued as more tears sprung from his eyes._

 _"Ok," the older man said as though he were trying to coax a person down from a ledge. "Then how's about I drive the Impala and you take my car and follow." Sam shook his head._

 _"No, I need-"_

 _"Sam, what you need is a break from all this. Take my keys, put your brother in the back of the car, and follow me." The younger hunter didn't want to leave his brother, but he also knew Bobby wasn't giving him a choice anymore._

 _Gently he laid Dean down in the back of the Chevy after Bobby threw down the quilt and then gave him one last tearful look before walking off to start up the older man's car._

 _He followed Bobby until he saw the his brother's car stop in the middle of nowhere._

 _"Where are we? What are we doing here?" He asked when he pulled up next to him, realizing for the first time ever, he had just followed blindly without having paid attention to where he was driving._

 _"Figured this is as good as any a place to start a pyre and-" he stopped himself, unable to finish his sentence. At that Sam's look grew dark._

 _"No," he replied dangerously._

 _"Sam-"_

 _"I said no. We aren't going to burn my brother."_

 _"It's the proper way."_

 _"I don't care."_

 _"It's what Dean would want."_

 _"I. Don't. Care. We aren't burning him. He's going to need his body when I get him back."_

 _"Sam-"_

 _"Let's get to work," the young man said still in a dangerous low tone, as if daring Bobby to argue with him._

OOO

Sam downs the rest of the first bottle of whiskey. The world around him is swirling and he feels his stomach lurch. Quickly, he throws open the door just as he empties his stomach onto the cement. When he's done, he brings a shaky sleeved arm up to his mouth and wipes away the mess, breathing heavy. Sam slams the car door closed and shuts his eyes. He remembers the last time he drank this much.

He had been upset about his destiny and insisted that if he followed it, that Dean kill him. He remembers how he had had his brother to watch out for him then and how when he woke up in the morning, Dean had been there.

But this time when that happens, there will be no one. He will wake up wherever he allows himself to fall out of consciousness and when he does wake, he will be alone.

"No," he says out loud at the thought. He won't be alone, because he knows exactly what he has to do. Sam's phone rings and he recognizes the number as one of Bobby's. "Sorry Bobby, not now." The drive isn't far, he's pretty sure he can make it without being pulled over or causing any damage. He starts up the engine and turns on the car stereo. Dean had been on a musical shuffle earlier, a nervous habit of his. They went from starting to listen to AC/DC, to Bon Jovi, to a few others. When Bob Seger's "Famous Final Scene," fills the car, it sends Sam into another fit of hysteria. It takes him a few moments, but the young man composes himself, wipes his freshly wet eye, ejects the tape so that the radio pops on with an early morning talk session, peels out of the parking lot, and makes for the nearest crossroads.

END

 **A/n: Thank you for reading!**


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